


His Love (Book 2)

by Rogueangelll



Series: His Maid (Lams) [2]
Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Civil War (mentioned), Consensual Sex, Emotional Baggage, Feminism, Fluff, Gay, Gay John Laurens, Hamilton - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Misogyny, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Porn With Plot, Shell Shock, Slavery, Smut, Strong Female Characters, Sub Alexander Hamilton, Sub John Laurens, Top Alexander Hamilton, Top John Laurens, Versatile gay relationship, but it’s not as kinky as it sounds, exploring masculinity, porn honestly, secret agents, this is kinda porn, thought-out plot, versatile lams, verse Alexander hamilton, verse John Laurens, war mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: John and Alex are reunited in this sequel to “His Maid”.  It is now that they are in London, regaining a relationship.  But now, duty calls, and complications lured them back to New York.





	1. Prologue

•Alexander's POV•

I walked through the city streets. It smelled nice; the smell of rain on the city streets was nothing shy of beautiful. I just walked.

Of course Edward had to leave me at the train station to find John myself. And with what knowledge? 'You'll know when you see him'? Of course I'll know when I see him. I haven't forgotten what he looks like, just because it's been two years since I've seen him.

What street am I on? Why is London so beautiful? Perhaps I should visit again if ever I return to America.

I huffed and continued to walk. I wish I had an umbrella. Perhaps I enjoy the rain, but it would be more enjoyable if I had more than a cheap flannel jacket and a newsboy cap.

Maybe I should have shaved before I left the port. I could have gotten a room and done so quickly. Will John still recognize me? Of course! It's only been two years.

And I hadn't grown that much facial hair, just a bit more on my upper lip and around my chin. I haven’t cut my hair, either.

I tried to clear my mind. What did that letter say? Right—he would be at his flat on whatever street it was in London. I find myself very good at remembering things usually, perhaps it was my anxiety that bested me in remembering this important little thing.

It had been a while since I've had a walk through a city where it was both cold and rainy. I adored it.

Still, all I could think about was John. What would he say after two years? What would I say? Would I just show up at his flat and smile and say, 'Hello, John. I know it's been two years, but I'm back'? Dammit, I should have brought something. A gift, maybe, like champagne or perhaps a rose. Do men receive roses? Could a rose ever account for the two years I couldn’t reach him?

I've been thinking about what I would say for the whole two weeks I spent on a ship to get to Europe, not to mention the taxi from the docks to London. Edward wanted to stay back on the coast and make his own life there. It was all right with me, as long as John remembered me.

I'm sure he has a family and a life here. Maybe he's met someone new. But we promised. We promised we'd wait for one another. I waited. I haven't been seeing anyone in Mexico for the past two years. All I could think about was John.

Suddenly, somebody caught my eye. It was him without a doubt, wearing a grey suit and a blue scarf. He had a black umbrella held resting on his shoulder. He walked through the park with such grace and dignity... my, God, this man I love...

I wanted to run to him. Jump into his arms and kiss him and tell him I love him. Well, now that I see him, what do I do? Do I walk to him? How do I do this?

I just froze, not realizing I was staring at him. Not until he turned and saw me. Shit, shit, shit.

His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something. I crossed the road quickly and felt my heartbeat skip a few times. Is this what it feels like to die? I didn't do anything for a moment until I thrust myself into his arms and hugged him, the umbrella going over both of our heads. 

John pulled away and I saw he was crying. Oh no, am I crying too? Shit!

"...Alex?" he breathed as though it were a question. He lowered his gaze and growled: "I-I thought you were dead, you imbecile!"

"But I'm n-not," I tried to smile, my voice cracking.

"I hate you," he mumbled. He held me again and buried his nose in my hair. I hugged him tightly. I couldn’t ever let go. Now that I’m with him I just can’t. I reached up to touch his hair—

Oh. He cut it. I recall.

I combed my fingers through the short curls and pressed my forehead to his shoulder. God, I’m crying! In public!

"I love you," I said under my breath. “I love you so much.”

“Alexander...”

I nodded against his body and felt my breath hitch. He rubbed my lower back. “I was just on my way home,” he whispered.

We walked back to his flat under the umbrella, barely speaking a word to one another. It felt like we had a million words to speak yet they all were suppressed by the deafening silence of the streets of rainy London.

We got to his flat and I didn't know what to do next.

"I live alone," he mumbled at last, folding up his umbrella. I just lunged forward and hugged him again, toppling us both onto the sofa with a kiss.

"I missed you so much," I whispered. He hugged me closer. "You look so ridiculously handsome right now, John.”

"I love you," he laughed, wiping his eyes. "Shit, where have you been?"

"Where have I been?!" I breathed, holding on to his shoulders, "I've been in Mexico, you know, where Greene said we were supposed to meet. What happened?"

"H-he said it was too dangerous in Mexico. By the time that you had left and were halfway there, information passed to the AAL said that there was some sort of complications. They brought me to Canada for a month before shipping me off to England," John explained. It sounded like he had been holding in this explanation for a millennium.

"W-what about the other slaves? Did Burr buy them like he said?" I inquired desperately.

"Yeah... he did. As far as I know. I've been writing letters with Peggy frequently; they've been passed between agents in the AAL. Like Eliza and Angelica... they live on the outskirts of London in a small flat, though they're usually out.”

"Well, what about you?" I smiled sadly and held his hands. "How are you? Have you met anyone?"

"I'm... I'm great now that you're here! How'd you get here?"

"Gah, does it matter?!" I hugged him quickly before slowly brushing my thumb over his chin. "You grew facial hair.”

"Oh yes, I'm practically a new man," he laughed sadly. "Seriously, Alex, how are you?"

"I'm fine. Mexico was a bit much, what with the post-war shit going on... but I lived there for a year. That is, until I got passage on a ship to where I used to live in Nevis. I met up with my cousin Anne and my childhood friend, Edward Stevens. After a year, they helped me scrounge up enough money to be able to sail to England.”

"Why didn't you send letters?" John asked, eyebrows scrunched.

"I— I wanted to. But It would have been too dangerous and expensive. The only reason I knew you were in London was because a letter reached me that was from Peggy. It was dated at least a year before I even got it. And before that, after I lived in Mexico a month, she sent a letter telling me you were in Canada. I had planned on sailing to England anyway, after being informed that you wouldn't be in Mexico. From England, I would have sent a letter to Canada, where I thought you were," I told him. I sighed and lingered my hand on his cheek. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I-I thought you were dead," John frowned, a tear rolling down his cheek. "After Peggy told me that she never got a reply to her letter, we assumed the worst. I spent a year thinking you were dead..."

"Hey, it's okay," I embraced John again. "At least we're here now, right?"

"Right. At least," he mumbled through tears. Neither of us could stop crying. "We have so much to catch up on..."


	2. Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback, the only time skip in this book I swear. It’s two years prior, back when they’re to be smuggled across the border.

Two years prior

January 1st, 1922

• • •

"John is going to meet us on the border, right?" I asked. Greene just sighed, nodding.

"Not us. You. I'm driving Laurens, you will be driven by a man named Haym Salomon. He is an immigrant from Poland. Do you speak Polish?" Greene asked.

"What? No,"

"Pity. Kindness from God that he speaks English,"

I sighed and refrained from telling this man off. He coaxed me into the trunk of a car, tossing a bag at me.

"Oh, I already have a—" I began but he slammed the trunk. I stayed scrunched up. How far away was Mexico again? 

I began to rummage through the bag when suddenly, the car began to move. I continued to look when my hand touched cold metal. I examined the pistol in the dark, my heart racing. I was supposed to stow away with a firearm? Was it loaded? 

I set the weapon back inside the bag carefully, putting it by my feet. I grabbed my own bag and looked through it. I grabbed some important letters, writings, and—

Oh, shit.

I forgot the sonnets I wrote to John. 

My plan had been to give them to him when we met again on the border. Now, they were back at my estate in my office, where nobody would know they were. John wouldn't ever be able to read them and the person to read them would likely be the wrong one. I'd never be able to return to America if my enemies found out I was a homosexual. Or, was I a mixture? I didn't know.

I nervously tapped the floor of the trunk, my hand shaking. Why the tremor? Am I this nervous, this unconfident in the people who are trying to help me?

Not surprisingly, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the dark, cramped space in the trunk of the sputtering car, my thoughts wandering.

Why does something like this happen as soon as I say it? As soon as I finally can admit to him— to myself— that I love him, we get torn apart. The world is trying to drag me under. Nothing new to me, of course.

I bit my tongue when the car suddenly jerked to a stop. I hissed in pain and covered my mouth. The trunk opened, moonlight shining over my curled up body. I almost had a heart attack until I realized it was the driver.

"End of the road," he told me.

"What? Already? But Mexico is—" I sputtered, but he cut me off.

"Stupid boy, this is a transition,"

"Boy?" I say up, "Pardon, I am a man—"

"Just get out of the car," the older man huffed, a bit of ash from his cigar sprinkling slowly to the dirt road. I looked around and walked cautiously to the second automobile. I laid down in the trunk; it was roomier. This automobile was blue instead of the red one I was just in. I set the backpack with the firearm down carefully and used the backpack with my money and papers as a pillow.

Sighing, I watched the trunk close. I'm doing this for John and for nobody else. If it wasn't John, I would rather just flee myself. And to Canada, at that, not Mexico where it was hot. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the Caribbean again.

It wasn't until what felt like forever that I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was still dark. I numbly reached for my back and grabbed the papers out, attempting to focus my eyes in the dark. It was the deed stating that I owned John. I felt a wave of nostalgia, hurt, and longing wash over my clammy body.

We'd be together again soon. We could live normally at last. I could only pray to the Gods I no longer believed in to allow me just this one shred of happiness. How could I fathom everything around me?

While I lay in the trunk, I recounted time spent with John. 

I bought him in— what, July? Then in August he began sleeping in my bedroom. After the other slave, Charles Lee, hurt him.

I questioned this. Why had John allowed himself to get cut like that? Why had he allowed himself to be tossed around the courtyard? He's not weak, I know this, so why? Was he afraid? 

It wasn't until late September or so that he seemed okay with me. My intentions weren't to hurt him, I simply... didn't know what I was doing. I couldn't stop myself. It's a pitiful excuse, I know, but truly, I didn't want to hurt him.

Picturing his expression now I saw the fear in his eyes. Even after we laid together and after things felt happier, there was a hint of it. Could I blame him? If I were in his position I'd be the same way; clutching onto my sanity, suffering the demise of my dignity in spite of my true strength, and for what? The illusion of love?

Precisely why I didn't want him to fall in love with me. Why had I done such horrible things when I only ever wanted to protect him?

...Protect him?

I need not protect him from anyone but myself. He's only sapless when with me. Am I even in love with the real John? Is he even in love with the real me? No, the real me is definitely who he fell in love with. We’re only as real as the façade we paint, right? So he only knows me as the cruel man I am. And he loves me— because he’s naïve.

‘Stop that’, I told myself. ‘I mustn't let my thoughts destroy me.’

I thought about our 'relationship' after we laid with one another. It felt a bit more cheery. I love his smile and the way he actually laughed around me. It was like he was slowly changing into a new person; one that gives a notion of reality. His smile made me smile.

I stared at the dark roof of the trunk and I smiled; heaven, just the thought of his smile could make me smile.

So why had I wasted time trying to make him respect me? Fear me? Am I not simply a coward myself?

What is the definition of cowardice?

* • •

After spending quite a while in the trunks of various cars for an amount of time that only heaven knows, I was finally coaxed into the back of a truck. There was a compartment that was covered by packages. In the dark night, I could see it was a mail truck of some sort. Not a very advanced one, it had solid rubber wheels and was rather stout.

The last time we stopped and I was helped out of the truck, we were in the desert. In the distance behind the truck I saw a river.

"Where's John?" I asked the driver. He sighed and fumbled through his pockets. "And thank you, for being a part of this and helping me—"

"I'm not doing it for you," the man said. "I'm doing it for Peggy,"

I nodded and kept my head down. It felt so strange to be on the giving end of respect. I had gotten so used to being respected...

The man huffed and handed me a folded paper.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Open it. I was told to give it to you but it's not my business to read it, Hamilton," 

I cautiously unfolded the small paper, my hands trembling. There was a hand-written note. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I read it.

"Hamilton, I need to leave. You—" he paused when I looked up at him, my words stuck. I wanted to say something. "Is everything...?"

"Where's John?" I asked at last. "Where... where is he? Please, sir—"

"Stephen. My name is Stephen. And I don't know where your slave is," 

"H-he's not just..." I couldn't breathe. I folded the note back up messily and put it in my breast pocket, feeling nauseous. "Where...?"

"I'm just the driver," he shrugged sadly, turning to leave. I grabbed his shirt.

"Please, wait. You c-can't leave me in Mexico alone, I don't even know where John is! Please," I begged.

He looked me up and down and I let my hand off of his shirt. "I'm not sorry for you,"

"Please—"

He cut me off with a simple glare. I stopped and backed away, the two backpacks by my feet. 

Stephen sighed again. "...If you got yourself out of the Caribbean, you can get yourself out of Mexico,"

"Wait—"

He hadn't waited. He left me on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande with nothing but my personal belongings in one backpack, a gun and Heaven-knows-what in the other, and the clothes on my back.

And this note. 

Why this note? Why must it sound like a farewell?

Peggy promised. She promised that John and I would meet at the border and we could do this together. Still, no John. No explanations.

I began to walk around aimlessly. With luck, I could find an inn and sleep there, awaiting John. I'd send a letter to Peggy and perhaps a phone call. If the landline could reach up to New York— I wasn’t quite sure. Everything felt surreal.

I dug through the bag, my heart pounding. What if John never got to the border? What if he had been found and arrested by the UFBI, or worse?

I grabbed the gun out of the backpack and inspected it. If that happened to John, I'd never forgive myself.

Knowing that the thought was too much to bear, I put the gun back and sighed. There was a canister and some money in the backpack as well. Wherever the Rio Grande was, it was far in the distance now. All I had to think about was John, and the note he wrote me.

“My dear Alexander,

I know that whatever is going to happen to us, I will wait for you. I love you and even when times are bleak, I cannot help it. I swear to you that time will unite us once again and that hopefully will be at the border.

I asked for this note to be passed to you, and for you not to open it until you were safe in Mexico. 

So if you read this... know that I am nothing less than affectionate; I plead to hold you in my arms once again and kiss your lips. When we do, I pray that it will be anytime but our last. I shan’t go into lewd detail, of course, for that would be inappropriate when ruffian hands might glance over the private affairs of two young lovers.

Through the challenges we faced, my single prayer to the heavens would be that you wait for me as well. If something were to happen, I beg you, don't forget me. For I certainly won't forget you. My promise to you is that I shan’t scruple to think of you every time I smell coffee, every moment I read a love story, and every time I fall asleep. I swear by the world I hold dear that I shan’t ever neglect your affections. 

I trust that you will not make any engagements with the opposite sex whilst we are apart. Although God willing, we shall see each other at the border promptly and we needn’t not make these promises.

My time writing this note to you is giving. Thank you, Alex, for everything you gave me.

I love you.

—Your affectionate Laurens”

A month later, no John. Yet, there was a letter that arrived yesterday morning.

Why was I afraid to open it? 

It could be great news. It could be from John, telling me that he was in Mexico as well and that he was coming! That his trip was just delayed due to a big snowstorm or that he was already here, he just didn't know where I was!

Or maybe it could be a letter from Peggy. Or Greene. 

Stating that John was dead, that he was found and killed during smuggling. That none of this means anything because it doesn't matter whether or not I survived and got out of the country if John isn't here with me.

This was our chance to start a new life, to be together at last! For him to stop being afraid of everyone around us and for me to stop having to pretend that he's nothing more than my slave. It was our chance to get out of the bonds of America, for us to live! Free and young, adventurous men as I know we both truly are!

Or maybe I should just open the damn letter, be a man and find out for myself.

I stared at it for a moment before tossing it aside on the small wooden table that I sat at in a rickety chair. This is where I had been staying for the past month. It was the only place where the owner would accept American dollars rather than pesos. I told him I'd get a job and work so that I could pay in pesos near the end of the month.

It was single-roomed and small, a bed in the corner and somewhat of an icebox by the table. I forgot about how hot it was in the south, even in the summer. Mexico wasn't even terribly far from the Caribbean, where I spent my early childhood.

While I had promised to work, my fear of wherever John was got to me first. I tended to be leisurely, laying around on the small bed and staring at the ceiling. I felt useless and broken without John. He was my happiness and when he was gone without my knowing of his whereabouts or well-being, my happiness was gone.

I'd have to open the letter eventually. It was killing me to not know for sure. At least I'll know that, if he's dead, I could end my own life as well. If he's alive but stuck in America, I could fight and do everything in my power to get him back. And if he's in Mexico, well, I'd have to stop being useless and find him. 

I tore open the letter, shaking just a bit. A lump caught in my throat as I began to read. The letter was from Peggy.

“My dear Hamilton,

I heard good news that you have crossed the border successfully. I recommend getting a job, that money you brought won't hold you over forever. Especially not in Mexico, where there's ought to be caution on your part due to the skirmishing around you, whereas you need to be working. 

Forgive me for not writing sooner, brother.

I regret to inform you that John will not be arriving in Mexico. The AAL decided it was far too dangerous to smuggle him all that way. They have brought him to Ontario, Canada instead, where he would be much better off.

The reason, they say, that they had not brought you to Canada initially, was due to the British occupation. As America is currently on good terms with the British government, that rings concern that American forces may lobby British Canada to look for you as well. 

In Mexico you were said to be safer; Mexico is currently in a bit of a Civil war, though most of the fighting was ceased back in 1916, after Carranza gained the support from folks there that he needed. At least, it stopped the military from intervening too much. In Mexico now, you are living in a sort of political, post-revolution world. Since Mexico is figuring its' own government out right now, the AAL decided that American government likely wouldn't dare to intervene. 

However, the AAL decided that making another trip to Mexico, and this time with John, was far too dangerous for his safety. I imagine you'll respect their wishes; I am certain you'd prefer an alive and well John over a dead one.

John will be watched carefully in Canada, do not fret. I made an oath to protect him for you. 

This being said, Alexander, I am afraid for your safety. I recall your episodes in great detail, unfortunately. It is my prayer that you do your best to avoid such things. In five years, maximum, we hope to reunite you and John. Please do not unnecessarily risk your life, brother. I know your recklessness all too well...

In such a dire situation, don't hesitate to write to me. We have AAL members in Mexico who will happily pass your letters along.

Don't forget that I love you, Alexander. You will be my brother always.

Yours,

Peggy S.”


	3. Tension

Present

October 24th, 1924  
London

• • •

Away from John, I was holding on to a memory. He felt like a new person now, but still the same. So suddenly we were reunited. Suddenly, after two years. 

Alas, John didn't seem the same as when I first arrived. As if already, he was sick of my being around. 

"How's life in London?" I asked shakily, my smile being just barely held together. 

"It... it's been good, Alex. I'm working an internship at a scientific research facility in uptown London," he looked focused on his hand from where we sat on his grey and plaid sofa. It was as if, despite the two years away from one another, we had no more topics to cover of our lives. 

I had been staying with John for three days now; I mostly rested after my trip from the Caribbean to England, and we mostly stayed in his flat. He had already told me about the internship twice, but I didn't want to remind him. He smiled when he talked about it; that was enough for me, just to see him smiled. I had almost forgotten what his smile looked like when I was away.

I forgot a lot of things about John. About the way he was as a person as well, apparently.

"You seem so withdrawn lately," I mumbled, my eyebrows knitting together. John glanced off and sighed. He looked out the window, where raindrops made small taps on the dull glass. 

"You must understand how strange this is for me," John paused, "and for you as well,"

"John, I'm sorry for suddenly showing up—"

"No, Alex, that's not..." he trailed off again and just shook his head leisurely. 

"I understand," I said quickly grabbing his hands and looking up at him. "I understand that I came so suddenly when you have a new life here, but... but I saved that note you wrote me. I haven't fallen out of love with you nor have I fallen in love with anyone else but yourself!"

"My... note?" John's eyes darted around a bit uncomfortably before realization sparked in them. 

"Yes," I dug through my coat. "I-I kept it with me. John, I love you,"

John just looked uncomfortable as I held the note pleadingly. He looked almost sick and pale. "I'm not the same person anymore, Alex,"

"Whatever do you mean?" I whispered. "You are still you... I know it's been a while but you're still... John," 

"I'm not the person you fell in love with," he insisted. I felt the pain in my stomach, tearing me apart from the inside. I kept my eyes down, trying desperately to stop the tremor in my hand as I held the note. I looked at the faded handwriting. Two years ago.

"But John," I pleaded softly, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. "I— I promised I wouldn't stop loving you,"

"Don't," he said in the quietest of voices, pushing my hand away. I kept my hand suspended in the air, hovering just inches from his face. John and I stayed frozen like that, unmoving as the world around us continued. 

"John, why?" 

He took a deep breath and didn't look at me.

"John! Answer me, y-you promised! Just answer!" I shouted. He flinched and smacked my hand away, his eyes suddenly changing as they gazed upon me.

"No. No, that won't work any longer, Alexander," he said. It was so confident; I got a twinge of remembrance of what I remember of him. The way he really was; afraid. "Get out of my house,"

"John, I don't want to fight anymore," I insisted. "We can have dinner, let's talk about this, please,"

"No, Alex, please go,"

"I'm still in love with you, John," I murmured, keeping still. "I— I can't help it, please, don't go,"

"I'm not the one going; you are,"

"But John, I love—"

"If you love me, you'll leave," he said harshly. "I don't want to live like I had with you again,"

"Like what?" I gasped out, taken off-guard and confused. My voice raised, "John, it's n-not like that, I really do love you. I don't think of you like that—"

"You pushed me away, Alexander. You made me weak and you made me feel li-like a helpless little girl! You made me wear a d-dress, and that's not who I am! You fell in love with a submissive, feminine man, and I've never been that way!" He shouted. 

"I didn't fall in love with the dress!" I yelled back. We both were standing now. "I fell in love with you, John! You're still you!"

"No, I'm not," he told me. I grabbed his arm and he shoved me. "Get the hell away from me!"

"John—!"

"No! I'm not the same, you made me somebody who I am not, Alex! I obeyed your every word and I was afraid of you! I pretended to be your little whore, like a doll on display, and I don't want that for myself any longer!" John yelled, every ounce of his being going into it. He panted and stepped back, tears in his eyes. "I thought you were going to rape me!"

"But... but I would never," I insisted, feeling tears in my own eyes. John was sapless and his arms were crossed. I knew it was a weak excuse but it was true.

"You threatened to! You tied my hands and y-you told me you would. You were in love with the thought of protecting me, as if I need protection! If you're so bent on having a quiet, feminine lover, then why don't you go date a woman instead?" He breathed. 

"You don't understand, John, I love you. I-I'm so sorry I made you feel that way, just please... please don't throw me out, I've been waiting to see you for two years," I broke. I began to cry.

"No. You need to leave," he told me sternly. I grabbed his arms and tried to pull him into a hug. "Stop, Alex! You can't just do this to me!"

"Please don't make me go," I cried harder. Why could I just let it all go in front of him? Anybody else and I would have stormed off, not allowed them to see my cry, but it’s John. And I was breaking down in front of him. "John, I love you more than I can say," I whispered, hugging him. I kissed him on the cheek and he pushed me away gently.

"Y-you can't do this to me, Alexander," he whispered. "You can't just show up..."

"But what else am I supposed to do?" I mumbled, wiping my eyes. "I did everything I could to get to you,"

"I don't want to go back with you," John choked out a suppressed cry. "Not when you made me feel like I was so helpless and terrible,"

"I promise," I cried quietly. "I'm not the same man as I was, either. It was wrong of me to do that to you..."

John pulled away slowly and sighed. I wiped the stray tears from his cheeks and leaned up, pressing my lips to his. He didn't pull away.

At first he was stiff and tense in the kiss, but slowly began to melt. He put his hand on the back of my neck and and one on my back, pulling me closer. 

The only sounds as we collapsed back onto his bed in the bedroom was the springs, our kisses and labored breathing, and the continuous hum of the rain. I nuzzled my face against his as he began to take my clothes off, my knees weak and my eyes barely open. I gasped softly, feeling him tug at my belt and then pull off my pants. I slid my hands up his chest and began to unbutton his shirt, my bare legs wrapped around his waist. He continued to kiss my neck as I undressed him, tossing his flannel aside and pressing my cheek against his as a strangled moan escaped the back of my throat. 

I let him take control as he pulled off my underwear as well, wrapping his hands around my member and moving slowly. I felt the need to say something, anything, coaxing him to move his hands faster or to just let him know how much I love him, but I didn’t want to mess this up. So I kept my words internal, allowing soft pants and moans to escape my lips instead.

John’s breathing was labored already, but I heard his breath hitch as I slid my fingernails down his back. He moved his hands faster all of the sudden, going back to kissing my neck and shoulders. I buried my face in his shoulder as I felt myself twitch and, without warning, release. I moaned and held onto his clammy body more, panting against him.

He collapsed onto his back next to me and I quickly flipped over, kissing him on the lips as a thank you then kissing down his neck, over his shoulders, his toned chest and stomach, and then ending up at his underwear. I tugged it off and spread his legs, wrapping my mouth around his manhood. He let out a strangled moan and I saw his groping the bedsheets out of the corner of my eyes. I closed my eyes, tasting a bit of saltiness on my tongue and continuing to suck. 

John didn’t say anything either; he kept quiet, legs tense as he squirmed and moaned, not so silent about his heavy breathing. I felt his member twitch and moved my head away, getting some of his release in my mouth anyway. I spit it out, it tasted sour. 

John didn’t move. I watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed, eyes closed and body twitching slightly. I got up, turning off the light as I glanced at the clock— which read somewhere past nine PM— and got back in bed. I laid next to him and pulled up the covers. At first I was withdrawn, not knowing if he wanted me to cuddle, but when I felt his hand inch towards mine and hold it I gladly took that as an invitation. He continued holding my hand as I draped that arm over him and laid my head on his chest. 

* • •

That morning, I stirred a bit in John's bed, thoughts of what happened last night reoccurring in my mind. It was still sprinkling lightly outside, perhaps misting, and the sun shone through the curtains of his bedroom window. When I wrapped my arms around his waist, I realized that we were both naked. 

My arm went stiff. I didn't pull away.

It was the first time I had sex with him since we were separated by distance, of course. It was amazing. It was like the rush of love all over again. 

John: everything about him was perfect. It was him all over again, the feeling of his skin and the sound of his moans. I needed him for so long.

The first time we had done it there was passion and love. As with this time; there was longing and sorrow, piecing together broken memories we had of one another.

But we were arguing before. He told me to get out and he was upset. Even now, I couldn't fully comprehend it. My arm fell limp on his waist and I just held him. I buried my face in his back and cried inaudibly. I wouldn't be able to ever leave him.

I remembered the one night he walked out. It pained me so much.

"John, get in bed," I had told him firmly that night two years ago. I remembered the moonlight shining in the dim bedroom, the way that I could just barely see the freckles on his face. The anger, yet the fear, in his eyes. It was glaring and painful. "I can't love you," I had said to him. I remembered. I couldn't love him. I didn't want to love him. I loved to hold him and protect him and treat him kindly, and yet... when I hurt him, I was too dangerous for him. I just wanted him to be safe. “John, where the hell are you going?! John!" I called after him in the night, my throat hoarse. I was going to start crying, I knew it. John was slipping away. I screamed after him. I called his name. I just wanted him to come back. The rest of that night was miserable. I hadn't slept at all and I went to my office; I wrote. I wrote sonnets to him and I cried. I wanted so desperately for him to be mine. I wanted him. I already knew I had his love, but his insurance of safety was what I craved beyond that. 

I thought that somehow by not letting him know my true feelings, I'd spare him of heartbreak and sorrow. I could put out the fire before it started, before society had a chance to take him away too.

I thought it would happen. It did for a while; I had admitted it to him, then we were separated for two years. I thought he was gone forever.

But I knew I couldn't let myself think like that. Not when there was hope.

When my father left, I was hopeless. When my mother and cousin died and my brother moved on, I thought there was no other way. But the hurricane changed me.

I wanted more for myself then. I didn't care who I hurt to get rich and powerful, I just did. Then I met John and suddenly, I couldn't stop loving.

When I thought he was going to be taken from me, I had to do something. I had to stop being useless.

Back in my present thoughts, I tried to push this away. It was a useless attempt.

My grip on John's nude body suddenly tightened. The tears had stopped, but I just held him more tightly under the wool blankets, feeling hopeless and useless again. Without John, I have nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex honestly thinks too much
> 
> He has like conversations with himself in his mind but I think that’s cool, y’know, it fits his character quite well. John wasnt like that as much, he was much, much more impulsive and “in the moment”.


	4. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorta mashing together lots of chapters that were super short. Idk.

John began to stir. He turned over under the covers and seemed to freeze a bit when he was faced with myself. All of the color drained from his cheeks.

"Alex," he said slowly, beginning to pull away. "Shit!"

"John?" I whispered. I grabbed his hand, this time determined to not let go. He pulled the blanket over his stomach and inched away from me in the bed. "John, it's okay,"

"N— no, it's not okay!" John spat. Tears welled in his eyes as he slipped out of bed, the blanket covering him waist down. I stayed still in his bed, covered by the sheets. He began to frantically dress, pulling on a pair of underwear. 

"John," I whispered, getting out of bed and beginning to dress myself. I reached out to take his hand but he pulled it away sharply.

"No," he whispered. We both stood half-naked, only in boxers in his small bedroom. It was still raining gently so that even though it was nine in the morning, the sun didn't shine.

"John, I assure you, it's all okay," I insisted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back to my body gently. He didn't pull away, he just flinched. I put a hand on his back to show that it was okay and I pulled him into my lap as we backed against the bed. A warm sense of nostalgia filled me.

John put his hands on my shoulders and I saw a few tears glisten before he laid his head down on the crook of my neck. He held onto my back and I just hushed him gently.

"See?" I mumbled, rubbing his back. "See? It's alright. It's just me,"

"No, I can't," he whimpered softly. "You're doing it again! You're making me weak again, making me feel like... like I have no choice,"

"Is... is that how you felt with me?" I whispered, suddenly struck with sadness. "Like you had no choice?"

"Alex—"

"Tell me honestly, John," I said firmly, feeling tears in my eyes, "did you only love me because you thought you didn't have a choice?"

"I-It was to survive," he defended. I heard the tremor of his words. "I had to stay alive somehow and even though I was afraid... but I promise, I really did love you,"

"Did...?" My heart ceased entirely. Just a simple preposition, making me go numb. My heart could stop beating right then and there and I wouldn't know the difference.

"That’s not what I meant, Alex," John said longingly. He had a pained expression in his eyes. I pushed him off of me, feeling angry somehow. Even if I knew in the back of my mind that it wasn't his fault that he couldn't love me.

I began to gather my clothes as John pleaded my name. I got dressed, he just tried to calm me down.

"Alex, please, we can just talk—" he begged. 

"Where's the Schuylers' address? Outskirts of London, yes?" I asked hurriedly. John groaned and grabbed my arm.

"Alex,"

"It's clear that we made a mistake in sleeping together. You don't want me here, I'll just go,"

"Alex!"

"No, I'm going! The sisters will let me stay with them, I'm sure!" I huffed. John grabbed my arm.

"They don't even fucking know you're alive!" He screamed. 

"You didn't know I was alive!" I shouted back. 

"That's different!"

"How?!" I pushed away his hand.

"We were lovers!”

"I'm sorry, John! I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to be in love with me, I'm sorry! Im sorry that I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to say— I cared for you then and I care for you now! I can't help the need to protect you!" I shouted.

"Protect me?! You didn't protect me from shit!" John fiercely called back. 

"I did everything I could to make sure Thomas wouldn't expose me and have you taken away! I literally saved you from death when I bought you at that auction! Everything worked out with you, d-didn't it?! You're fine, you're here with your new life, meanwhile I've been sent back to the south where I could barely pick myself up in the morning without you!" I screamed. I began to sob. John looked pained as he cried a bit too; he reached out for me and in an attempt to smack his hand away, I hit him in the face harshly. It was too harsh.

"Y-you can't do that anymore!" He yelled angrily. "You can't get away with hitting me! You can’t get away with pretending you care and then hurting me and covering it up again! You don't own me anymore!"

"John—"

"Shut the hell up!" He cried.

John held his cheek where I hit him and I just grabbed my shoes, still crying. I stumbled to the door with my bag and my coat in my arms when thunder struck outside, sending my hand off of the doorknob immediately in quick reflex. John wrapped his arms around me and we sort of collapsed to the floor.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I held onto his shirt and sobbed. John didn't say anything, he cried into my shoulder.

"I— I didn't... mean to," I sobbed. "John, please, I can change, but please don't leave me alone..."

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m sorry, I—” he sucked in a breath and held me. 

“Stupid London, why does it always have to fucking rain?” I whispered. 

What felt like forever passed in his arms. I almost fell asleep, but my heart wouldn’t stop racing even if the tears had stopped.

“I hate crying,” I told him truthfully, “it shows weakness,”

“I know,” he mumbled.

“You never liked crying, did you?” I asked. 

"Alex... I don't think you truly understand how much you hurt me," John mumbled. His lips stayed pressed against my neck, though it was in a comforting way. 

"John, I told you that I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I don't doubt for one second that you are," he pulled away and held my cheeks. "But still... during these two years apart, I've had time to reflect,"

"Reflect?"

"Yes," John sighed, his hand falling limp at my sides from where he sat in my lap. He shifted a little and bit his lip. "I— I realized that... who I was in New York wasn't who I was in South Carolina. Who I am now. I've changed a lot. I'm more mature and... when I was with you, I acted... immaturely,"

"John—"

"Hush," he put his finger to my lips, "We can work this out but we have to be calm and honest and not interrupt. Alex, I'm sorry. It was... it was wrong of me to just suddenly blow up like that, I know, I just... I have feelings, too. I shouldn't have kept it all I  like that. It was a volcano waiting to erupt,"

"John, it's okay—"

"It's not, Alex," He put his head on my chest. I don't know why I did what I had, but I was scared. For the first half of our 'relationship' I called you by 'sir' and 'Mr. Hamilton' and I obeyed your every command. I was afraid of you and I don't want to go back to that because I love the real you,"

I bit my lip. It was absolutely true.

"And," John added, "I didn't love the Mr. Hamilton part of you. Even though you protected me from some things and you did your best, it wasn't you. I— I think. Because you're Alex and I love the real you. The one I can drink coffee with and tease and joke and laugh and talk about books with. We had amazing times and that's when I really, truly fell in love. I'm just afraid that somehow... I could lose that part of you and you might think about being Mr. Hamilton again. About trying to hurt me to get me to love you,"

I realized it now. He said it multiple times before but I never truly understood how much I had been leaving out. How often I thought of us when I was away, yet my memories were tweaked the slightest bit to falter the true monster I was. To weaken the remembrances of how much I truly had hurt John.

I love him. I love him, so, so much. I thought I could protect him.

Yet, I let my own pride get in the way of that. I let my unrealistic ideas of what I had with John to cloud what really happened.

The memories I previously thought back to were different. The truth was bent; not a lie, necessarily, I just blocked out the wrong I did. I blocked out our fights.

Just as I block out anything else I refuse to remember.

I began to cry, hugging John closer to me.

"God, John," I sobbed, "you haven't done me any wrong. I'm so sorry, I was so blind,"

"Alex," he hummed, pulling away and wiping my tears. "Don't cry. It's okay, I'm sorry as well,"

"No, I shouldn't be so weak," My voice broke. John just pulled me down and hugged me tightly. "John... John... I'm such a terrible man,"

"Hush," he whispered. "I'm sorry... it's okay. We're okay,"

"We're okay," I repeated. “I hate f-fighting with you, I’m sorry,”

"We're okay," he said one more time.

* • •

"Hey, I uh, brought you coffee," John whispered, coming into his bedroom where I was buttoning my shirt. It was the next morning, and the sun was shining for real this time.

"Thank you," I replied quietly, grabbing his arm gently and kissing his cheek.

"I was thinking that we should do something today. Since it's stopped raining at last," he told me.

"Wait, what's it like in London...?" I asked quietly, "as far as people like you and me go with... you know,"

"Better than America,"

"How?"

John sighs heavily and smiles, "well, there's this little café I go to downtown. The waitresses be sure that there is a special place reserved for people like us in the back. It's nice; men mingle and talk and make friends, and the best part is that the waitresses keep it very secret. They don't let men who are hateful towards it back there,"

"Really?" I smiled. The smile began to falter slightly, "so you go there often?"

"I do. Not looking for love, but it's nice to have other men to talk to who share the same..." he sighed, "ideas. Men who aren't going to beat you to death behind a bar because you make an advance on him that you thought was welcome. Men who aren't going to tell everybody your secret,"

I just took the mug of coffee from John, smiling still. "That's amazing,"

"Yeah. It's technically not illegal..." he trailed off, "though very dangerous still. The government can't technically control who is having sex with who and what their sexes are, but other people will still..."

"Yeah," I hummed sorrowfully. "I get it,"

"Just a week before you came— an acquaintance of mine, actually— was in love with a man with whom he thought he had a close friendship with. They were both a bit tipsy and he confessed his love. His friend got angry and he, um... he beat him nearly to death. The man wasn't prosecuted in court because you know how it goes... the jury favors what is seen as 'normal'. So his friend still lives in England, while my acquaintance moved to Wales,"

"That— that's horrible," I stammered. 

"Though not abnormal," John breathed. He sipped his coffee.

After a moment, I inquired, "You said that the sisters lived on the outskirts?"

"Yes. I'd have to ring them and see when they're available if you want to visit,"

"Just Angelica and Eliza?"

"Yes," John paused, "Hey, we can go for a walk... it's not like we can hold hands like other couples but it's still nice,"

“Alright,”

• • •

After we finished dressing and drinking coffee, John and I stepped outside of his flat. I marveled at how truly beautiful the brick building was when the sun shone on the misty morning. The vines that climbed up the windows and the way the fallen leaves glistened on the ground; it was still wet from the rain over the last few days.

"Isn't it beautiful?" John breathed, gesturing to the rest of the neighborhood.

"It's absolutely marvelous," I grinned. "You live in such a nice part of London. Not like the inner city, it’s a bit dirty there. How do you afford to take it easy here?"

"The research facility pays well," he told me. "And they rarely bother me. It's a dream job,"

"What do you research?" I ask as we begin walking.

"My colleague and I have been working on a project studying patients who behave abnormally. Trying to figure out what causes abnormal behavior and whether it's a disease or a birth defect... et cetera,"

"That's amazing, John," I said. 

"It's great," 

I loved the way he looked when he smiled. He looked healthy and happy and amazing. It was him. Not some fable I had thought he was. Not some beaten, worn down boy I forced into a dress and called my lover. Just John.

"I love the way you smile," I said softly. John turned to me.

"Do you?" He blushed a bit, tugging on the corner of his blue knit scarf.

"Yes. I love it—I love you— so much,"

John laughed a bit bitterly. "You know... I almost forgot,"

"Forgot?"

"How uh, how things used to be. When I was first shipped off to London I forgot about how it really was for a while... and then I reflected and really saw, especially when I thought you were dead..." he sighed, "but when I'm New York, I forgot what I looked like without bruises or scars or dresses,"

"John," I whispered pleadingly.

"Shit. Sorry, Alex, I hate constantly bringing this up, but it's all I  can think about, you know?"

I felt a burning sense deep within me. I wanted to grab his hands and hug and kiss him, tell him it's all alright, that I'd never do that to him again, that it was all so wrong.

And yet I can't. Not when people could see. Not when it was too risky.

So, I just sighed and smiled, telling him it was okay. We continued to walk through the park.


	5. Visiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes his way to the outskirts of London.

"No," John whined as I pulled away. I huffed and collapsed back onto his bed. "It's been two years since I've hugged you, don't do this to me,"

"Do what?" BI whispered in response. John heaved, putting his hands on my waist and pulling me closer. 

"You know what, Alexander Hamilton," he mumbled, kissing my jaw.

"Are you frequently more affectionate in the mornings?" I chuckled. He glared, pushing me away.

"Fine then, Alexander,"

"What? No, I—"

"If you have an issue to take up with me regarding my affections, please do,"

I sighed and put a hand on his back. "John, I was just teasing,"

He stuck out his tongue and flipped onto his side, pulling the covers with him. I curled up next to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my forehead on the nape of his neck.

"Get out of my bed," John groaned, though he didn't move. 

"Hush," I whispered.

"Don't you dare tell me to hush," John laughed, holding my hands against his stomach. "If anything, you are the one who needs to hush," he paused and said, "we should get out of bed anyway,"

"Yes— right. Don't you have work today?" I asked. He flipped over and faced me.

"I do," he groaned. 

"Alright, I'll get dressed too—"

John's eyes widened, "No, that won't be necessary,"

"Why? I can't stay cooped up in your flat for the rest of my life,"

"Then you should ride the train to where Angelica and Eliza live. I will write down the address—"

"John," I whined.

"What?"

"Please explain to me why I cannot accompany you,"

John answered, "Because, our research is undisclosed and I'm not warranted to bring anybody in. I promise, I'll talk to my boss and explain who you are,"

"No, wait," I said, "is it safe for anybody to know who I am?"

"You can't go by an alias for the rest of your life. In England, the American government cannot come for you, as you've already fled the country. Remember the Adams-Onis treaty? America won't interfere with European affairs, and the English government provides protection for American immigrants,"

"Really? That's wonderful, didn’t even know people gave a shit about that anymore," I smiled. "Alright, I can visit the sisters today. You called them yesterday, yes?"

"Yes," he confirmed, pecking my cheek. "They were so excited to hear that you were alive and well,"

"Oh," I laughed bitterly. "I'm sure they were,"

"Yes, they were," John glared. I shook my head when a pillow met the side of my face roughly. "Anyway," John went on as if he hadn't just hit me with a pillow, "the train ride is no more than an hour to their flat. They’ll pick you up in a taxi. They aren't working today,"

"Where do they work?"

"Only Heaven knows,"

"Oh," I whispered. "We should get dressed, then,"

"Yes," he agreed, watching me get off of the bed. I paused for a moment as he gave me an expectant look. Sighing, I got back down onto the bed and rolled on top of him. I smirked and kissed his neck.

"Mm," he hummed under his breath, reaching out to touch my bare back. I continued kissing. "Alex, I cannot believe it has been— mm— two years since we've done this,"

"Technically, we did it the other day," I pulled away. He laughed and held on to my waist, flipping us over. 

"Yes, but neither of us were thinking clearly,"

"I take that as an insult," I said, my hand on his bare shoulders. "I was thinking quite clearly,"

"Oh, were you?" He chuckled, hands rubbing up my thighs. "Because having sex with a man right after arguing with him doesn't make the most sense,"

"Neither does any of this, yet we let it happen," I countered. 

"Touché," John hummed, kissing my stomach. He began to tug at my underwear playfully when I grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back up to me. He sat in my lap, a glare in his eyes. 

"You have to get to work, remember?" I whispered in his ear. "None of this,"

"It's my house, I shall do what I please," he crossed his arms. I quickly flipped up over again and pinned his arms down. 

"Are you quite sure?"

He squirmed a bit and huffed, turning and looking out of the corner of his eyes. I smirked and kissed his cheek when suddenly, a ringing went off.

"Shit!" John pushed me off of him, running into the living room in his underwear. The telephone was ringing. I watched intently. "Hello? Yes, this is John Laurens— no. Why do you ask?— Wait, what? Where is she?— Okay, I'll visit right after work. Thank you, have a nice day— yes, goodbye,"

"What was that?" I asked John cautiously. He heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

"A friend of mine. I'll explain later, but we need to get dressed,"

After John and I had gotten dressed and I had gotten on the train to go to the sisters' house, I began to worry. John sounded worried at the phone call, perhaps I should be as well.

But there was no time for thinking. I read the newspaper on the train ride and when I was at my stop, I got off without thinking once again. There waiting for my was Angelica and Eliza, both wearing thick draped coats and mittens.

"Alexander!" Eliza hugged me.

"Why aren't you wearing anything other than that coat?!" Angelica lectured. I rolled my eyes.

"Two years, and that's the first thing you have to say to me?" I asked. 

"It's good to see your face," Angelica sighed. 

"You too," I said, hugging her. 

"How is John?" She asked.

"He's... good," I whispered, smiling a little. 

Eliza clapped her hands together. "Well, come on then! We have no time to waste,"

We began to walk. After a moment I whispered, "This may seem like a rather silly question, but... why do you not seem surprised to see me? John cried, he said he thought I was dead,"

"We knew you were alive," Angelica said promptly. She led me to a cab and the three of us piled in the back seat.

"You knew?!" I whisper-shouted, my fists balling. "And you didn't tell John!?"

"Yes, we knew, you imbecile," Eliza huffed. "Wait 'till we get home to discuss this, Alexander,"

I crossed my arms and leaned back, utterly offended to the highest of levels. I closed my eyes and attempted to wander off in my mind, but it wasn't working. All I could picture was John's face and the way his heart broke when I saw him again. 

When we were home, I had to refrain from punching the wall. (Though, their flat was rather nice, pretty clean and generously decorated).

"I cannot believe you," I paced the room.

"Alexander, let me take your hat," Eliza offered. I ripped it off and threw it at the wall, to which the two women heaved loud, disappointed sighs.

"We're spies, Alexander, important pieces of a huge network of freedom fighters. Of course we knew you were alive," Angelica said calmly, though he eye was twitching.

I raised my voice, still pacing the room, "then why the hell didn't you tell John that, huh? He thought I was dead! He moved on!"

"Exactly the point," Eliza whispered.

"What?"

"It was the point. First of all, if he knew you were alive, he'd rot away in his flat waiting for you. He wouldn't be able to live his life and be normal again—"

"Normal?! He was fine, Eliza! I waited for him! I love him, he still loves me— I..."

"No," Angelica said. "Alexander, what you had was not normal. He used to cling onto you and cry for you, wear whatever silly clothes you made him wear, play dress-up like a child and obey your every word uttered form your fiendish lips. Nothing about his tears and pain and fear for you were normal! Don't you see? You hurt him," 

"Angelica—" Eliza put a hand on her arm.

"No, no, listen," she said to me, getting close and grabbing me by my shirt collar. "I am your friend and as close as your sister, Alexander. We've been friends for years and you know I will always have your back. But you were wrong this time, and whether or not you can be forgiven is up to you, now. As your friend, I am obliged to help you save the man you love and help him stay safe. But, as an agent and protector of freedom, I have to draw a line. I'm sorry; it was the best for him to not let him know you were alive,"

"Angelica..." I mumbled. I looked over at Eliza. "Eliza?"

"...She's right, Alexander," Eliza sighed, taking off her coat and hanging it up.

"No... no, you're wrong," I insisted. "John, the way he looked when I saw him again..."

"Alexander, stop. We know what's best—"

"No!" I shouted, frantically pushing Angelica away. "You don't know! You weren't there, you didn't see his eyes! You didn't see the way he cried and you weren't there to know how real it all is! You weren't, you just weren't!"

"Alexander!"

"Stop it! Stop, stop, stop! John still loves me, you can't take that away! Hiding the fact that I was alive was cruel, Angelica! It was disgusting! I don't know how you could ever possibly live with yourself!"

"Stop!" Angelica yelled, slapping me across the face. 

“Angelica, what the hell?” Eliza grabbed her sister’s shoulders and pulled him back.

“He—”

“You know Peggy isn’t going to be happy about this—” she pointed to me, pulled Angelica away, “he’s having a manic breakdown, you need to be gentle!”

“Gentle?” I whispered, eyebrows furrowing, “I’m fine! I’m not crazy,”

“I never said—” Eliza began but Angelica cut her off.

“I don’t know, Eliza, maybe we should send him to an asylum,” Angelica spat. Eliza held her roughly. “Treat him with some diathermy,”

“Take that back, Ange. I swear to God, Peggy is going to be so mad when she finds out,”

“Fine,” 

Eliza turned to me, he face softening. “Alexander, look... it may have seemed like the wrong decision but ultimately, Angelica is right,"

"No," I whispered.

"Don't cry," she said quietly.

"I— I'm not. I'm not crying," I wiped my eyes. Eliza went on.

"Don't you want John to be happy? To move on and find his way in life again, for real?"

"I do, I just—"

"No, hey, I know it’s not black and white, yeah? But the decision is. If you truly love John, you will let him go. You will let this go and be happy for the fact that John is so strong. And you may want to hit me for this, but he's stronger than you. Even if you hate to admit it. He's able to find a way to live life after you abused him and wore him down. I love you, but it's only fact,"

I felt my throat tighten. I’m not crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you’d like to research about Alexander’s mental illness in this book then you may do so, but I’m going to talk about it reallllllly quick.
> 
> In this AU, Alex supposedly has bipolar disorder, what was then called “manic depressive psychosis” which originated from a French claim of the illness, called “folie à double forme” which basically means “madness dual form”. Bipolar is basically the highs of mania and the lows of depression. Whether or not he has it cannot be fully determined because mental illness was not treated or researched as well as it is today. Although even today, we don’t know exactly where it comes from and aside from medications and therapy, how to help it.
> 
> So Peggy, who was stationed in America and therefore knew Alexander much better, called upon Dr.  
> Hosack to see what was wrong with him. Normally in the early 20th Century they’d want to try putting him in an asylum or using various forms of treatment including shock therapy, as mentioned by Angelica. 
> 
> Peggy knows the risk of having Alexander thrown into an asylum and therefore doesn’t allow that to happen. Although, people took mental illness very seriously and often times criminalized it. So we see Angelica, who is upset with what she’s heard about Alex, and Eliza, who is trying to mediate.
> 
> That’s it for my quick description, because I don’t want to force people to go out and research it (but you totally should because abnormal psych is super interesting) but I also can’t have the characters explaining it because it from the points of view of people who really didn’t know much.
> 
> Thank youuuuu for your timeeeee


	6. Telltale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza spills the tea

I rubbed my eyes, hunched over with my elbows on my knees as I sat on the sofa. I looked up at Eliza. "I still do not understand," I began, "why Peggy did not want anybody else to know about John and me,"

Eliza shook her head. "She was worried that other people would be skeptical. Indeed 'twas dangerous for you to be exposed. What if Jefferson were to find out? Madison? Adams? If they had, you and John would not be here in England. We wouldn't have been able to— as the AAL— offer you protection,"

"Yes, but if you and Angelica had found out—"

Eliza set down her cup of tea and saucer on the small table— which had a white foliage draped over it— and sighed. "We are secret agents, Alexander. As was Martha Manning. Do you know whats funny to me? I've been thinking quite a lot about this,"

"What is it?" I asked. She chuckled softly.

"You had a spy living in your home for three years and you never caught on," she laughed. I sipped my own tea. "It was so obvious, too. She was always snooping around and going through your papers—"

"She did what?" I set my saucer down. 

"Oh, come on, don't be bitter about it. She snuck out of the house a few times, too. Went into town,"

"How?!"

"It was easy," Eliza waved a dismissive hand. "Bundle up in a cloak and change out of her maid's uniform, then sneak out. Peggy provided her with a key to the gate," she made motions with her hand, as if gesturing a passing of an object, "and she just left. Went into town and bought goods with money passed on to her by Peggy, or by the agency as it were. She also used your phone downstairs quite frequently and reported information,"

"What— sorts of information?" I dared to ask.

"Ah, I don't know, I wasn't in that branch at the time. Angelica and I are stationed in England, mind you. But I assume it would be the status of your relationship with John and if you were threatening your slaves. Not to mention that time you— oh, this is one of my favorite stories," she laughed bitterly and cut it short to continue talking, "Ah, anyway, I heard about that time you beat a slave for hurting John. You're quite emotional, aren't you?"

My eyes widened and I gripped onto the arm of the sofa, looking Eliza in the eyes. "No, I'm not,"

"Sure you are. You pretend you aren't and that just goes to show how many feelings you have under your—" she paused, smiling a little, "thin skin. You're quite difficult to read at times, of course, but when you collapse you can't stop. But do you know how I know how emotional you are?"

"...How?"

"If you cant figure something out, you write. If you're angry, you write. If you're sad, you write. If you're in love, you— guess what?— write. I acquired the poetry you wrote for John from Peggy, by the way. Oh, right!" Eliza set her tea back down and leaned forward in anticipation, "As I was saying before. When that slave— ah, do remind me of his name,"

"Lee?"

"Yes, him. When that slave cut John's leg open, you beat him. Really badly. And I did not expect that from you, because you're usually so... nonviolent! But when I heard about the things you were doing to John,"

"Eliza, please don't," I mumbled. She went on anyway:

"Hitting him, yelling at him, making him wear woman's clothing...? I was... more or less shocked, yes, but it made sense after I thought about it for a while,"

I sighed, embarrassed, "Where are you going with this?"

"You were angry, Alex. Not at John. At yourself. Frustrated because you couldn't admit to yourself that you might actually have feelings,"

"Eliza," I mumbled. She continued talking, disregarding me.

"You hurt him a lot. You wanted to— no, not to break him, you love him so you wouldn't do that— but you wanted to protect him. Spare him from getting his heart broken because of he never has the chance to love you after you wear him down, beating after beating and threat after threat, then you'll never have the chance to really hurt him,"

"You— you weren't even there," I crossed my arms, "you wouldn't know,"

"Well, am I wrong?"

"...No,"

"You're transparent, Alex," she smiled. "I know you so well,"

"And I can't stand that," I mumbled. "Eliza... do you think John deserves better?" I asked. "Please be honest with me,"

Eliza took a deep breath, appearing to think about her answer before deciding on a firm, "No. I think John deserves you to be a better person to him, but I don't think either of you could live without each other. You're perfect for each other. Do you want to know my honest opinion?"

"Please,"

"When I first heard about John Laurens being your slave, then how you treated him, I was shocked. I knew he was your slave and from Martha I heard about the violence. But I hadn't heard about the romance from Peggy. So when Angelica and I went back to New York for Christmas, I was nervous. Our whole ordeal was to see if John was alright. At first I didn't believe that you would hurt anybody. And Martha made it clear that you most certainly would. And then I caught you two in the room alone together, and John sounded in distress, I—" she cut herself off and frowned more, looking away.

"You— What?"

"I had a small pistol in my sweater. I almost pulled it on you," she swallowed, going to make eye contact. I stared at her, eyes wide and eyebrows draw together, lips parted. I quickly tried to hide the shock. "But I don't think I would have been able to shoot you. I was hurt for John,"

"Eliza..."

"I'm sorry. But then I talked to Angelica downstairs, told her what the both of you said, and then Peggy found us talking as well and she came forward to ensure us both that you and John had a consensual relationship. Both of us were skeptical at first, Ange especially, we thought that maybe John was—" she sighed again, "crazy.  A horrible thought, yes, but in the situation it wasn't completely inconceivable.  But that's why Peggy didn't tell us.  She knew that it could be perceived that way and as your friend, she wanted to protect you.  She always protects you. But Henry Laurens wanted us to make sure John was alright—"

"What?!"  I cut her off, sitting up completely straight and staring.  "His father, the slave owner who refused to buy him or talk to him after he got arrested?"

Eliza shook her head slowly.  "You obviously don't care enough to ask John about his life, do you?  Henry Laurens was disappointed, angry, yes.  But he doesn't hate his own son,"

"Bullshit!  John told me himself—"

"I'm not saying he wasn't an ass or that he was a good man.  But his father genuinely just wanted to make sure that John was okay.  And we told him that he was, that he was bought by a man who treats his slaves well and feeds, clothes, and perhaps even nurtures them,"

I shook my head.  "Did you tell him that John and I— you know...?"

"Heavens, no.  That's a horrible mistake that only a bloody fool could make.  No, no," she said slowly, "we wouldn't.  But he does know that John is currently in England.  And they are in contact, they've been writing letters,"

I sighed, "I feel so uninformed,"

"Well, you have been in Mexico for two years,"

"Have I, now?  Didn't notice,"

Eliza laughed bitterly.  "After knowing John for almost two years now, I can truly see what you find so charming about him,"

"Oh?"

"He's just like you, Alex.  At first when I met him and heard about him, I thought he was some helpless boy who needed savior.  But now I know him and I've talked to him about the year he spent with you.  He's strong, Alexander— smart, too.  Abrasive.  Much more physical than you, that's for sure.  But still emotional on the inside.  He tries to hide it as well and perhaps he's more difficult for me to read as I have not known him for as long, but I appreciate his conversation.  Witty, cynical at times, yes— and also very outspoken.  I thought, perhaps, he was against lambert because of the time he spent as a slave himself, but he was always against it.  Economically, morally, practically, he had arguments for them all.  He's so damn smart, he's your perfect match,"

I smiled slowly.  Just hearing about John made me smile.  "He's amazing,"

"I see why you'd want to oppress him," she added bitterly with a shake of the head, "he could easily outwit you, take control.  You're too prideful, you know that?"

"Yes," I admitted.  "We had a fight, you know,"

"I don't doubt it.  When you got back?"

"Yes," I nodded, "about how I left.  About how I treated him badly.  About how it took me, like, fifty-three 'I love you,'s from John to actually say it back. I'm awful and messy and terrible at romance, but he loves me anyway. He demanded respect and I promised him I'd give it to him,"

"Will you?" Eliza asked.

"Of course. I don't want him to hurt anymore or feel like he can't be who he is just because I'm an ass and I have baggage. It's hard on him. I don't want him to leave. When I thought he was going to leave and hate me I panicked. The first time it happened back at the estate. He left my room and I panicked so much that I threatened to—" I swallowed hard, my hand trembling as I tried to hold my tea cup and saucer still, "—beat him. Hunt him down. R-rape him. I hit him a lot because I was angry at myself and then from the floor he would look up at me, trembling, and whisper... 'Admit it... you love me'," I stopped when my voice cracked in the middle and I laughed to hide it, wiping my eyes quickly, "and I got more angry. I didn't want him to love me. And I don't know why, I mean, it's not like I could ever have a strictly sexual relationship with him like I wanted. I actually don't know if I ever wanted even that. I felt myself falling in love and I hated it. But I hated hurting him..."

"Alex..."

"For that reason, part of me wishes I never met him. Then I wouldn't have hurt him. And one night I was so angry with him that I just— snapped. In front of the Marquis de la Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan,"

Eliza's face hardened slightly, her eyes glossy. "Go on,"

I nodded. "And I told him to go to the bedroom. I told him that I was going to take him body whether or not he liked it," I swallowed hard as worrisome emotion flashed on Eliza's face, "he screamed and cried, insistently begging me and saying that I wouldn't do it. That I couldn't. And he even tried to get away—" I paused again, my breath hitching, "but I grabbed him and I dragged him back to the bed. I pinned him down and shouted at him.  He slapped me, he kicked, he screamed, 'You won't do it', he screamed, 'You love me, Mr. Hamilton' and I told him... that I could never love a slave," I shook my head and hid my eyes, "I told him he had nowhere to go.  That if he tried to run I'd make his life hell, that I'd bring him back and hurt him more.  He screamed and I told him to shut up..."

"Alexander," Eliza mumbled, "You didn't... did you?"

I went on, trying to keep my voice from wavering as I spoke, "I left the room.  Argued with Lafayette and Mulligan, they told me not to.  It's not as if they could do anything about it anyway, because by law they would be prosecuted if they were to help a slave.  And they shut up about it.  When I came back upstairs, he was asleep— John, that is— and I didn't know what to do.  So I took some rope that I had from many nights before— that's a separate story, you see, I took it from the shed and brought it up to my room, knowing that I could use it if worse comes to worse considering that Jefferson would want proof of me hurting him.  I had tied his wrists one night after a fiasco at a party so that when Jefferson saw him the next day, he'd see the rope burn and assume that I had raped him,"

"Clever,"

"Perhaps.  Anyway, I tied John's wrists to the headboard while he was asleep and I took off his clothes and put him in a red nightshirt.  He didn't wake up.  I—" I swallowed, "he looked desirable but I couldn't do it.  I tried first by touching the side of his face and touching his hair, even, but I just couldn't.  And then it dawned on me what I had prompted myself to do.  I had actually seriously considered doing that to him and I... I started to cry.  I sat on the foot of the bed and cried.  I tried not to but I couldn't and when John woke up, I told him I hadn't done anything, and I untied him.  I hugged him and cried more and while I was crying I denied that I was doing so..." 

"Alexander,"

"I'm sorry," I wiped my eyes, realizing a tear fell, "I'm so sorry.  I never wanted to hurt him and he didn't do anything wrong.  Anything he said to me, I deserved, because I was controlling and demanding and he forgave me anyway.  I don't deserve him,"

"Alex," Eliza sighed and shook her head, "I don't believe you'd ever do that to him.  I believe that you're a good man,"

I just laughed bitterly and steadied my voice, "that's what John said, too.  And he said that he forgave me.  And I told him not to, I told him that I was cruel and cold and that he should hate me but he just cried, and told me that he wanted to come back to me.  So I said yes.  And things were still weird and I don't know why.  But he forgave me and I just— I don't deserve it.  So I did my best to be a better man for him.  Still... I was so blind,"

Eliza opened her mouth to respond when a knock came upon the door.  I looked over as Angelica opened the door.  "Alex, John called, he's heading back to his flat,"

"Alright," I stood up.  "Eliza, thank you for the tea.  And the conversation, I enjoyed it,"

"Of course," she stood as well, taking my hands and kissing me on both cheeks.  I moved to Angelica, who sighed at me and looked away. 

"Evening," Angelica mumbled, putting a hand on my shoulder.  "Alex, I believe in you,"

"Please, don't, you put too much faith in me," I whispered.

"No," she shook her head, "I put just enough.  Eliza and I have a job tonight anyway— but thank you for visiting.  Have a good evening,"

"And you as well,"


	7. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like summer (autumn, actually) in the city

"I thought maybe tomorrow, I could bring you to the lab where I work," John said, stretching and untying his boots. 

"Lab?" I smiled a little, "Do you have a white lab coat? And a fancy name badge?"

"Hush," John laughed light heartedly, "I already told you about my internship— what? What's that look for?— three times?"

"Five," I said. "Sorry. I was just looking at your chin hair,"

John rolled his eyes and took off his coat, hanging it next to his blue scarf. He glanced over at me and pulled me into a kiss.

"...You're in a good mood. It's raining and cold and we literally just recovered from a huge fight. And you're in a good mood,"

John chuckled and kissed my jaw by my ear. He mumbled, "Am I not allowed to be in a good mood? Isn't the point of being done with a fight to be in a good mood once it's over? Because we resolved the issue, right?"

"Yeah. Do you actually like that internship this much?"

"No. I mean, yes, but I'm not in a good mood about that. I had a really shitty day but I think I'm just relieved to see you, is all," he mumbled as I kissed his neck, backing him against the wall. I ground on him a bit, continuing to kiss his neck. "But— Yeah, anyway, I thought y-you might like to s-see what sorta work I do,"

"I had a good conversation with Eliza today," I whispered by his ear. 

"Mm— oh?"

"Yes, I mean, it did end with me in tears, but guess what?"

"What?"

"We're massive idiots," I breathed a small laugh, taking his hands and nuzzling my face against his neck.

"...Do tell," he insisted.

"Mulligan, Martha, your sister, Peggy, Angelica, Eliza... they were so suspiciously prancing around and we never had second thoughts," I groaned slightly, putting my hands on his hips and pulling him closer, "Lafayette didn't know, either. Neither did the other slaves. We were so blind,"

"Ignorance is bliss," John hummed, tilting his head back and giving me full access to his neck. I pressed gentle kisses down his throat, feeling his vocal chord vibrate against my lips. "But knowledge is power,"

"Mm... Mhm," I didn't answer fully, just continuing to kiss. He put his hands under my thighs and flipped us around, my back pressing against the wall as he balanced me in his arms, holding me in place. My legs wrapped around his body and I was wedged between the wall and John. 

Suddenly, I heard the toll of a clock ringing and I yelped, prompting John to set me back down.

"I forget that the church does that," I muttered, hearing the loud chorus of the bells every few beats. I glanced out the window. It had stopped raining and the sun was setting. "It's quite beautiful outside,"

"Would you like to go for a stroll, then?" John asked, "I know we just got back from the train station but I've failed to buy groceries the past few days,"

I glanced over at the small kitchen, my eyes wandering briefly to the petite refrigerator.

"When's the last time you went?" I asked curiously, already reaching for my jacket that was hanging on a hook nearby. John did the same.

"Several days before you arrived, so— a week ago, just about, perhaps a day or two more," I watched as he pulled his boots back on. I hadn't yet taken off my own shoes so I was set. He kissed my cheek and wrapped his scarf around his neck.  "I need to stop by a friend first, she's going out of town and I'll be babysitting,"

"Babysitting?"  My face dropped.  "That— that's fine, yes, who is this friend?"

"Neighbor, kind woman," he smiled, "met her sometime last year?  She had just moved from America, we've found sort of friends in one another," 

"Lovely," I nodded, opening the door.  A cool breeze swept through the house and John and I quickly left.  He locked the door behind us and we began down the street.  Several flats down was a small brick building with a blue door.  John climbed the steps and rang the doorbell, when a woman opened the door just a moment later.  I stuck my hands in my pockets and glanced up to see a familiar face in a brown coat wearing blue mittens, the same color yarn as John's scarf.  She looked disheveled, holding a small girl in her arms who was wearing a red coat, blue mittens, and a blue hat.  

"Maria, how are you?"  John greeted as Maria set the small girl down.  The girl hugged John and my eyes widened.

"Maria Reynolds?"  I picked my head up, my hands remaining in my jacket pockets.  

"Are you—" Maria looked over at me, her lips parting in shock and closing again quickly.  "Alexander Hamilton?"

"Yes," I nodded, "ah, what are you doing in London?"

"You two know each other?"  John interrupted.

I nodded.  "John, that's the woman whose court case I was to take before we had to flee," I mumbled.  "Miss Reynolds, how are you?"

"I—I'm fine," she said, "and you, what are you doing in London?  How did you meet John?"

"John was my, uh, slave," I said, moving forward to stand on the steps next to John.

"We're friends, though," John glanced at me.  "We were friends then, too, don't worry about Alex.  He's not— you know.  He's trustworthy, Maria, and would never hurt a soul.  Long story short, he's staying with me.  I can explain later when you get back,"

"Right," Maria nodded.  She brushed her hair out of her face and pulled her hood up, coaxing her daughter out the door.  John helped her, taking her bags.  

"Hello," John smiled at the small girl.  She giggled and grabbed onto John again.

"She has her bag, some clothes in it," Maria whispered and turned to John.  "Thank you again, John, I owe you a thousand thanks."  She hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks, kneeling down to look at the girl.  "Be good for John, okay?  Love you, Susan," she kissed the girl's forehead and hugged her.  

"Love you, Mommy," she said.  Maria stood back up and I stopped her, taking one of her hands.

"Miss Reynolds, if I may ask, how did the court case hold up?  Are you doing alright?"  I asked.

Maria looked down.  "Since you fled the country apparently, Mr. Burr helped me divorce, then I moved to London last year to get away from... I'm doing better.  Thank you for asking, but I need to go,"

Maria thanked John again and began pulling her luggage towards the train station several blocks in the opposite direction.  John picked Susan up, swung her arm playfully, and set her back down.  I gave John a questioning look.

"Susan, this is Alexander," John said softly to the girl, holding her hand,  "he's my friend,"

Susan nodded to me and smiled shyly.  I could help but grin back.

"So... this is odd," I said, offering to take Susan's bag for her and swinging it over my shoulder.  "Of all the countries, all the cities, all the neighborhoods, and you're neighbors with my ex-client in a court case,"

"Crazy," John laughed bitterly.

"That scarf— it's the same color as her hat, scarf, and mittens," I pointed out, gesturing to Susan who held onto John's arm tightly as we walked down the street. 

"Yes, and?"  John paused, "Oh.  Yes, Maria knits, so I bought her some blue yarn in a thank you for her moral values... basically, one day I was getting off the train and I forgot my wallet in my seat, and she found it and she returned it to me.  No money was stolen and she obviously is," he paused again, covering half of his mouth with his hand and whispering to me, "rather... not poor, just... you know, she could use the money,"

I nodded, understanding.  He took his hand away, glancing to the oblivious six year old girl and back at me.  John continued:

"But she didn't take the money.  Of course, I had never realized that she was the woman you were talking about who needed help divorcing her husband.  I sometimes babysit Susan when Maria needs to work, too.  She's just trying to do the best for her daughter, and I respect that.  I admire the rare art of good parenting,"

"I understand that," I nod, "that's great, John.  I admire how you have a— a life here, you know?"

"I know," he smiled.  He turned to Susan with a softer tone, "Hey, we're going to the market for some groceries, is there anything you want when we get there?"

Susan's eyes lit up as she skipped a little faster.  "Apples!"

"Apples?  Okay, I'll let you pick out the biggest apples you can find," he laughed.  I put my hands in my pocket and smiled to myself, looking down at my feet as we walked.


End file.
